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Brooke Carter: dry spells, anorgasmia and sex toys

There is a Missouri drought happening in my pants.

I am going crazy here, guys. The last time this girl got any action was over the summer, and it’s now October. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to compare this dry spell I’m currently suffering to the 1930s Dust Bowl.

That being said, of course I have needs. Thus I have become bosom buddies (vagina buddies?) with my battery-powered secret friend, whom my dear friend Sasha* has nicknamed “Lars.”

Before I met Lars, I was a part of the 10 to 15 percent of women who could not orgasm under any circumstance. No matter how hard my guy or I tried, I just couldn’t get there. It was awful and frustrating, and I thought I was going to die an orgasm virgin.

Then along came Lars.

Lars is gigantic and purple and wonderful. He has a studded shaft that spins at the touch of a button and a “rabbit tickler” with seven vibration speeds. Seven.

When Lars and I first became acquainted, I was a little intimidated by his sheer size and power. After I made the purchase, my gutter-minded girlfriends asked me every single day if I had used it yet, but for several weeks I was too scared to play with the purple dinosaur.

Eventually, the desire to climax overpowered my fear of complete vaginal obliteration by this enormous artificial dong. I went for it. And it was a failure.

Gentlemen, a word of advice: sticking it in and vigorously thrusting will not get your lady off. At all. Anyone who says differently is lying.

Once I wrapped my mind around that, I decided to turn my focus to his Peter Cottontail attachment. Only then did my three-year pursuit of the elusive orgasm end.

What I’ve learned after trying for what felt like forever to get myself off is this: the act of achieving orgasm for women is much more mental than physical. If you want to go over the moon, you first need to get out of your head. Any insecurity or anxiety you have while hooking up will make you feel unsexy and unable to focus on the pleasure, and that will ultimately lead to disappointment.

For the longest time, I was so intent on faking an orgasm to make my guy feel good about himself that it would be all I could focus on. The actual pleasure I was experiencing took a backseat to my Meg-Ryan-diner-scene routine.

If you’re like me and find the pressure of giving an Oscar-worthy performance in the sack hindering your pleasure, try going solo. No pressure, no time constraints, no one to answer to but yourself. Plus, once you know what you want, it’s less stressful and much easier to tell your partners what to do.

Can’t seem to find a technique that rocks your world? Buy a vibrator. Seriously. The people at Spencer’s were extremely helpful and professional when I bought Lars. If Internet anonymity is more your thing, there are hundreds of adult toy sites to choose from and many promise discreet packaging.

All that said about the joys and miracles of masturbation and sex toys, someone please throw me a bone here. Drunken party grinding sessions just don’t cut it anymore.

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